Its that time again - the final chapter. I both adore and despise this part, because I swear I am incapable of working on something without getting emotionally attached to it, and I've been writing this story since september 2013; almost two years now. I hope that you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and all I can do is say thank you, for sticking with it, despite the occasionally slow updates, and changes.

Honestly, let me know what you think, and again, sincerest thanks for taking the time to read my work, regardless of how bad it may be at times.

Dee xx

"We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

"Derek Hale," a chillingly familiar British accent sounded as Derek walked slowly, carefully into the dark clearing of trees. Around them, it was still raining, comforting and grounding on his skin. Derek was wrapped in his old leather jacket, collar turned up against the weather, face neutral and controlled. He could feel his anger blowing up a hurricane beneath his ribcage, building slowly, barely contained. His fingertips tingled with the repressed urge to elongate his claws and he was powerless to control the secondary growl rumbling in his throat with every breath he drew in.

"You're looking peaky, and not at all as attractive as you usually do. Is something wrong?"

Klaus knew the risk of returning to this town. Hybrid or not, even he would have a hard time fighting an entire pack of furious werewolves with solidly established bonds and territory. But the rest of them didn't know that Derek had come out to meet him here; they just thought he'd gone for a run to shake off some of his despair.

"Cut the crap Klaus," a feminine accent sounded from the shrubbery to the left of them, and Bonnie stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight streaming through the trees and illuminating her dark skin. Her hair was much longer than it had been the last time that she and Derek had worked together, brunette and curly, although slightly knotty in the wind, the strands catching each other in the faint rain. She stood with her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket, a dark purple tank top on underneath with jeans and small healed ankle boots. Her eyes were focussed on the hybrid between them, and they were lit up with hatred and power, the kind of spark that Derek had only ever seen in Stiles' features.

"Hello, love," Klaus raised his eyebrows at her, his red mouth curling into a predatory grin, his eyes crinkling and filling with blood, his sharp fangs glinting against the limited effulgence of the night, almost preening.

"Stiles is ill," she spoke, her syllables harsh and clear "you're going to lend us some of your power so I can make him better again"

"Oh really?" he replied, chuckling crisp and cutting and eerily light in the air "I don't remember agreeing to that"

"That's because I wasn't asking," she half-growled, and Derek felt a deep satisfaction when Klaus' face contorted with agony, small croaks of pain escaping his lips as he dropped almost mechanically to his knees, clutching at his head under Bonnie's spell. Damon stepped out now from the right of the forest, famous raptorial smirk curving his mouth, crystal blue eyes sparkling voraciously as he quirked his right eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, watching almost ravenously at his age old adversary gnarling and coughing on the muddy ground.

"Now, now, BonBon," Damon drawled, meeting eyes with his witch "we need him conscious if we want to save Stilinski"

"Derek," Bonnie nodded regally, and he moved forward, grabbing Klaus by the collar and yanking him up to full height "I can't hold him for very long, his healing powers are too strong," she said urgently, and Damon immediately took over, speeding off with the hybrid towards the hospital.

"Come on," Derek breathed, taking Bonnie by the hand and breaking into a run, half tempted to throw her on his back and make quicker work of the forest. They weren't that far away from the main road and his car however, and they managed to get to it in just under five minutes.

"Right," she said, her voice slightly shaky as she started up the engine and turned on the headlights "now for the tricky part"

"You've got an hour," Jordan Parrish said, a look of understanding in his eyes, met with a slightly awkward posture at the inconvenience the situation caused him as he squeezed Derek's shoulder and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him before taking up guard outside.

"Alright," Bonnie said firmly "this magic doesn't need runes or sigils – it requires raw power. It will drain you all and hurt like hell, but you can't break the circle, or we all die," she instructed.

The last part of the clue had clicked in Derek's mind when they'd been speeding along the highway back towards the hospital from the woods – ink, old tobacco, burger grease, gun shots. Sheriff John Stilinski.

That was why the whole pack, including the human members, along with Klaus, Damon, and Bonnie, were all stood around Stiles' bed, John Stilinski's battered old badge placed over Stiles' heart. The sheer anxiety radiating from them all was almost overwhelming, but it was equally tenfolded with a new wave of determination and a final rush of intense hope that overrided anything else. This was good. This would save them all.

"Hands," Bonnie instructed again, and immediately all eleven of them joined palms, Klaus looking very pissed off, but participating nonetheless. Damon's sharp fangs were glinting in the low light of the room and all werewolves had their own fangs and claws out, ready to draw on both their human energy, and that of the wolf. This could either mean that they got Stiles back, or that Parrish would walk into the room an hour later to find twelve dead bodies scattered around the floor.

"It seems clichéd," she sighed "but you need to be calm as possible. Deep breaths in and out, bones steady and thoughts focussed"

Immediately Derek heard fast beating hearts slowing into a rhythmic beat. A monotone of pulses thrumming in time with each other, ready to save one of the people they loved most in the world.

"Close your eyes," she breathed, and silence fell as darkness surrounded them.

It was damp. Stiles wasn't sure how a dream could be damp, but that's what it was. Damp, stygian, and… drippy. Somewhere water was dripping, and the faint taste of metallic on his tongue along with the bitter rusty smell wafting through his nasal passages told him that there was blood as well. A lot of blood.

He wanted to reach out, to use something to ground him. But when he opened his eyes, it was all he could do to stay upright. His body felt wrong, sort of… intangible. And the breath was too steady in his lungs, too slow and controlled.

What seemed like moments later, he managed to put one foot forward, expecting to collapse immediately. Instead, he simply moved as though in a trance, his limps almost disconnected from his brain. Ahead of him, there was nothing but a dark corridor, thin and narrow and daunting. Slowly, his emotions came back to him and his breath began to hitch in his throat, confusion and fear settling hebetudinously in his stomach. His lissom fingers began to shake slightly and he half gasped as the frore temperature registered with his skin, goosebumps raising on his spine as he continued to put one foot in front of the other.

A breeze brushed over the back of his neck and his muscles froze, eyes widening before, all of a sudden, he was confronted with the overwhelming smell of ink, burger grease and old tobacco. The scents that used to comfort him now brought him a cold, thrilling fear and an enormous amount of repressed guilt. He could have stopped it. It was his fault.

"I'm sorry," the broken voice tumbled helplessly from his chapped lips, the entirety of the past five years aching in his gut, crushing his ribs, falling like fragmented shards of glass from his mouth. Then his legs finally gave in, the nausea returning, the familiar weightlessness of strengthless limps and thinned blood. Sobs didn't whimper from his throat, they retched terribly, dry and diminished and drenched with pain. Only this time, warm hands gripped his arms and caught him, lessening the blow to his knees as he landed on harsh, unforgiving concrete, the tenebrosity around him deafening. His system went into shock when the hands were replaced with strong, older arms wrapping around him, the wonted ambience of the embrace like being dipped in boiling hot water head first with his eyes wide open; and then there was no holding it in.

He screamed louder than he ever thought possible, shouting and crying and gripping so tightly to those arms that he should have been drawing blood. He howled and yelled until his throat felt as though it would split open from the inside out. Yet still, those arms held him, and a voice he'd ached for whispered comforting words in his ear, the chest he clung to muscled but softened from one too many biscuits, the way it had always been.

"Its okay son," it said softly "it's alright, it wasn't your fault – shhhhh. It wasn't your fault. You have got to forgive yourself," his sobs slowed into deep, quiet gasps of air as his entire body shook with each contortion "you have got to move on properly. You're keeping me here and its not fair on anyone," John Stilinski's voice resonated everywhere in reticent, soothing waves, gently calming Stiles' keening.

"I'm sorry," Stiles breathed once more against his father's shoulder, everything sore and hypersensitive.

Bonnie growled low in her throat, determinedly gripping tighter to the slacking grip of the werewolves stood either side of her as Stiles' body convulsed terribly on the bed in front of them, short, sickening choking noises gargling in his pale throat. It was a good job they'd detached the heart monitor before they'd started, otherwise they'd have the full force of the Beacon Hills Hospital medical faculty rushing into the room.

"Vita mortem damnum dolor, terra aqua ignis aeris potestas, magia solum sol calor. Vivicabit, attrahendam eum ad nos. Vita mortem damnum dolor, apud autem potestas in eum atque in autem admodum halitus autem autem terra, vivicabit attrahendam eum ad nos"

Her voice grew stronger, yet more strained with every word and every repeat of the spell, the breath in her lungs growing more powerful, the blood in her veins rushing and pushing her magic further, the sheer force of power dragging from the circle through her body alone, was almost overwhelming. But she would not stop now, not even when Stiles' eyelids snapped open, entire eye that stunning black and golden colour, the magic now beginning to run through him, forcing him rigid and croaking for breath, possessed.

"Your friends are trying to save you Stiles," John said delicately as he pulled back and took his son's broken, pale face in his hands "they're trying to save you. Right now they're stood around your bed trying to bring you back, and when you do wake up," he paused at Stiles' surprised expression "yeah, of course you're going to wake up, dumbass. You think I'd just let you die? When you do wake up, you have to let go"

Stiles' eyes were full of tears again, but there was no sobbing or uncontrollable break down – there was only a quiet fragility to it. For a moment, Stiles looked sixteen again.

"I-" he broke off, the words catching for a second on his tongue "I don't want to let go," he choked "you're my dad"

"Yeah," John grinned "I am. And I want you to live, and I want to be at peace. I want to be with your mother Stiles," he breathed "it's cold down here and I need you to find yourself again"

"Have I seriously been keeping you down here for all of this time?"

"You haven't been meaning to," John pointed out "but you were my unfinished business, so I couldn't… jesus its corny – I couldn't 'move on', so to speak. Do you see what I mean Stiles?" John asked, looking him straight in the eyes "do you understand?"

"I- I think so," Stiles nodded, pursing his lips together and swallowing heavily as a tear dripped finally down his gaunt cheekbone.

"Okay," he smiled, his face shining with pride and compassion – the kind of love so powerful that it could pull Stiles beyond the veil and force him to do what was really needed.

"But… how?" Stiles asked, lost and hurting like hell – wow, heaven and hell references really weren't needed at that point in time.

"Close your eyes," John replied gently "imagine that you're in a dream," he spoke as Stiles' red rimmed eyelids fluttered closed and his breath shook, his hands quivering violently, gripping those of his father's "I love you Stiles," he whispered and rough lips pressed to his forehead.

"I can't," Stiles whimpered, shaking his head, his eyes still tightly squeezed shut.

"Oh shut up, yes you can; you're a Stilinski," John scolded gently "take a deep breath and just… let go"

Stiles felt unimaginable pain panging in every crevice of his enervated body and it vibrated in his chest and throbbed in his heart, burning his lungs. But, with tremoring limbs and pathetic, tiny little sobs, he found the thing inside of him that he'd been unknowingly holding onto since the untimely and unfair death of his father. He allowed it to consume him one last time, before, abruptly, it simply floated away from him in nothing but a small gust of wind.

And then, once more, there was darkness.

"He's stabilising," Bonnie's voice came from behind Scott and he flinched slightly, before relaxing and nodding once, feeling her sit down on the arm of the chair he was settled in. His own arm went around her waist, pulling her in close, and she leaned into him sideways, allowing him all the comfort she could offer.

The pack were in various states of exhaustion in the lobby, strewn about across the waiting room chairs, some of them snoring, some of them wide awake and quietly, morosely sipping coffee that may as well just be pure caffeine. The nurses simply left them there, seeing more than ever that this group of people would not be moved – and more importantly, a group of young adults that were shaken to the core by such an extreme threat to the life of one of their best friends. Melissa brought them all food every other hour and made sure they weren't hurting themselves, napping in such awkward bodily positions.

"I know," Scott breathed "I know. It's just… he still looks so small. It sort of seems like all I've done in the past year or two is sit by his bedside and wait for him to come out of comas. Are you sure he's back?"

"Yes," she spoke softly "I did a magical diagnostics check – he was hovering in another dimension for a while, then something changed, and the elemental spirit wasn't fighting us anymore. It just… left. And then he started to stabilise. Your mom said so," she grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head "he should be awake in a day or two"

"Have you talked to Derek?"

"No," she sighed "he's still out for the count; Damon is watching him to make sure he doesn't leave his bed. The guy needs to sleep, he's been awake for just under five days straight, and that was before we did the spell," she informed. Scott nodded once more in acceptance of it, but said nothing else, simply closing his eyes against her, his free hand clutching that of his best friend where it lay limp on the side of the hospital bed.

It might possibly be one of the longest days of his life.

"Will you leave me alone? Jesus fucking christ, I was in a coma for exhaustion, not a damn broken spine," Stiles growled as Derek made to help him out of the Camero. He earned himself a glare, but was allowed to stand slowly upwards by himself nonetheless. Derek settled instead for taking the hospital suitcase out of the boot and locking the car. Stiles leant against the door for a few moments to catch his breath and bearings, before he pushed off of it and winced a little at the way his back clicked and his vision swayed.

Before Derek could berate him however, Stiles was walking back up towards the Hale house, tightly gripping the wooden railings of the porch to climb the stairs. His body was still tremendously weak, although his wolf powers combined with his magic, were regenerating his energy for him much faster than if he'd been solely human. In the days after waking up, Stiles had slowly gained back the ability to move properly, and to speak. Since then, he'd been snappy, frustrated, and moody. He was slightly less so with their betas, but irritable still when they tried to help him shower or walk.

The mood had persisted now he'd finally been allowed out of hospital, and Derek, although determined not to let Stiles shut the world out, was not exactly having the best time of his life trying to keep the idiot off his feet.

"I made sure everyone was out so that you could come home to quiet, get used to being out of hospital before you had a bunch of pups trying to scent you again," Derek spoke curtly, a little pissed off as he opened the door for Stiles and closed it behind them, setting the suitcase down.

Stiles simply nodded once and went straight to the living room, sitting on the sofa and leaning his head back against it, closing his eyes and breathing in deep the smell of friends and pack and Jackson – the fucker – who had been eating spicy chicken wings in the lounge again when he knew that it stunk the freaking house out.

Derek waited a few moments, before following his mate, wordlessly seating himself down closely beside him, tipping his own head back and feeling, for the first time, the extent of his sleep deprivation from the previous month and a half.

"I hate this," Stiles' voice was strained and quiet, barely a whisper as he hung his head, playing with his hands in his lap and breathing slowly, deeply. His thin fingers shook slightly and Derek looked down sideways at those pale hands, covered in beauty spots and scars from before he'd been turned.

"I know the feeling," Derek replied with a small, tired snort of exasperation.

"I'm sorry," Stiles spoke again, shaking his head, discreetly biting down on his bottom lip, swallowing "this was – god, I can't even blame myself anymore because that's where I was going wrong beforehand. I should have dealt with this a long time ago," he managed to articulate, still not bringing his head up. Derek sighed, sliding his hand sideways and lacing their fingers together. That was better, it looked right now. Tan, hairy hands on pale, spindly ones. The way that it was supposed to be.

"No more comas for at least ten years, okay?" Derek said softly, lacking the energy to be angry or annoyed with his mate for ending up in harm's way all over again. He let go of Stiles' hand, pulling his head to his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of his scalp, drawing his body against him. Stiles closed in on himself, getting as close to Derek's form as he possibly could. Derek realised then that the shaking was more down to cold than to psychological issues. He held him tighter, emitting as much body heat as he could.

"Wait," Stiles said a moment later "do I still have my job?"

"Jimmy said it's open as long as you need it. They aren't that busy at the moment either. And I talked to your publisher-"

"Does talking mean growling until he stopped trying to get you to explain everything properly with actual coherent sentences?" Stiles remarked, smirking. Derek huffed, pouting a little.

"No," he replied unconvincingly "he's working with your publicist and agent to shift things around. They want you to release a small statement on your social networks in a couple of days once we've come up with a story for why you've been in hospital," he explained and Stiles nodded, sighing.

"I hate releasing statements, the fans always pull it apart too much and I'm pretty sure that there are actually a few readers convinced that I'm a werewolf"

"Maybe you should make your next book something a little further away from the whole YA thing then," Derek suggested, frowning. He had always been a little nervous and overprotective of the secrets of their species. It was a lot to handle for people who hadn't been introduced into the whole 'mythical and fictional creatures are actually real and very dangerous' thing gradually.

"Is that another jab at the fact that I'm refusing to tell you all what the new book is about?" Stiles teased, and Derek simply narrowed his eyes and stared moodily at the blank television "well I'm tired and I haven't had sex in two weeks so I want to sleep in our bed for a few hours, fuck you until neither of us can move, and then we can get a giant take out with the pups and binge watch friends on Netflix," he proposed, slowly unravelling himself from Derek weakly.

"Stiles," Derek said, his cheeks a little flushed all of a sudden "Melissa said not until you're better-"

"Derek," he replied, mirroring his tone as he stood up "I really don't give a shit right now. If I want to fuck my boyfriend, then I will, okay? Now please move, I need a human sized pillow if I'm going to get some shut eye on an actual proper bed for once"

"We let him go," Scott said nervously, shifting from one foot to the other, pulling on the long sleeves of his cotton pullover, chewing on his tongue, and looking pretty much anywhere but at Stiles. Bonnie was perched up on one of their cargo boxes, arms either side of her, keeping her upright. Damon stood close, arms crossed over his chest, a mildly amused expression on his face, as per usual. Erica was beside Stiles where he was sat, her new obsession with re-scenting him after his hospital debacle meaning that she was never more than a few inches away from him at any one time. He had put his foot down about night time though, her and Isaac's clinginess had not been allowed anywhere near his and Derek's bedroom past eleven o'clock in the evening.

Allison was leant against the wall to the left of Scott with Lydia against her side, playing with the rings on one of Allison's hands. Jackson was in Missouri visiting one of his adoptive parent's family friends, so Lydia was taking the chance to rekindle her slightly drifted dynamic with the pack's resident archer. Boyd was working, unable to get out of his shift for the pack meeting, and Isaac was beside Derek to Stiles' left, hands in his pockets, looking forlorn.

"Right," Stiles said slightly blandly, unsure as to how he was supposed to be reacting to this "where was he when I woke up in hospital?" he asked, his brain short circuiting as it desperately attempted to process the information. They had allowed Klaus to escape again, let him run after using him to bring Stiles back. He didn't understand what he was really supposed to say.

"Damon had him on a tight leash," Isaac spoke, glancing from Stiles to Scott, to their present vampire, an unreadable look possessing his features.

"Yeah right, hottie mchottieson over there is a total badass, but Klaus is an original hybrid, even a precious Salvator brother would have a hard time keeping him in one place against his will," Stiles remarked, deciding that he wasn't as angry as he probably should be.

"I resent that statement you little runt," Damon retorted although there was little malice behind his words "respect your elders"

Stiles snorted. Damon playfully displayed his fangs and Stiles retaliated with growling low in his throat, flashing his canines and blinking his red pupils. Damon rolled his eyes and Bonnie nudged Damon, hissing at them to stop acting like three year olds.

"I had him locked in a container with a blocking spell," she explained, and for the first time, Stiles noticed the dark lines under her eyes. The magic she'd been using for them in the past few weeks including keeping Klaus in one place and getting Stiles to an alternate dimension so that he could help his father's spirit pass on, had drawn on her strength immensely. He hadn't really talked to her properly since he'd left hospital, not entirely sure how he could ever thank her enough.

"Hell yeah," he grinned, winking at her "you see this is why we need a witch. Witches get shit done"

"Stiles," Derek sighed "you're a witch"

"Yeah but Bonnie is better," he tutted as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And prettier," she added, also smiling. It was a sight for sore eyes to be honest, Stiles hadn't seen that smile in a very long time.

"I don't know about that," Damon replied, smirking as he eyed Stiles up and down. Derek started growling, which only made the vampire grin even wider, wiggling his eyebrows at the two alphas. He winced and pouted however, when Bonnie forcefully flicked him on the forehead to get him to behave.

"Back to the fact that we let the all-powerful hybrid that murdered your father escape without holding him so that you could slash his throat," Lydia pitched in, flashing a smile when Scott glared at her, guiltily taking a step towards his best friend.

"We're super sorry," he said "it's just that-"

"Christ you guys seriously think I'd want you to keep someone hostage so I could murder them?" Stiles interrupted, a slightly bemused, betrayed expression on his still mildly exhausted face "what sort of monster do you think I am?"

"No, that's not what he means-"

"That's exactly what he means," Damon cut across Isaac, shifting so that his opposite leg was entangled with his right one now, leaning more against the container that Bonnie was sat on "wolves are instinctual," he said "they experience bloodlust in the same sort of way that vampires do. Especially for the people who have severely wronged them," he explained, earning angry looks from almost everyone in their pack "they assumed that you would want to kill Klaus as revenge for your father because it's what you are," he continued "it's in your nature"

"We are nothing like you," Scott growled, narrowing his eyes.

"Keep telling yourself that pup," he remarked "if it helps you sleep at night"

Scott made towards Damon, his eyes flashing yellow. Stiles moved straight from his seat, a hand on Scott's chest, stalling him.

"C'mon Scotty," he said softly "it's alright, I'm not angry. I'm just confused and surprised. It's a lot for me to take in, but I'm not pissed at you- hey!" he tapped the side of Scott's face to get his attention, wrapping his arms around him tightly and feeling his body relax substantially as his arms instinctively threaded around him in turn "you guys just misunderstood my intentions with Klaus, that's all," he soothed, his hand on the back of Scott's head, feeling his beta nuzzling his nose against his neck "I don't think I really knew what I wanted to happen anyway. I might have wanted to kill him, you never know. I did want to kill him, a long time ago," Stiles pulled back a little, taking his brother's face in his hands, meeting his eyes affectionately with a small smile, watching the frown crease his brow "but not anymore. I don't want to sink to his level anymore. And I would never ask you guys to make that possible for me either, I'd be a pretty shitty alpha if I did"

"Awh," Damon cooed sarcastically "that's the most adorable thing I've seen all week. Bon Bon why aren't we that adorable?" he asked her.

"Because you're an idiot who says things like that," she replied with a sigh and he pouted, feigning offense.

"How long are you guys staying for?" Stiles asked, throwing his arm over Scott's shoulder and pulling him into his side, turning back to Bonnie and Damon again.

"Just a couple more days," she said "then I'll be fit to travel again"

"You wanna do pack night with us tonight?" Stiles offered, a half smile of hope "there will be popcorn and trashy movies"

"Add a bottle of bourbon in, freckles, and you've got yourself a deal," Damon said. Bonnie rolled her eyes yet again, but nodded in agreement. Stiles simply raised an eyebrow in reply.

Stiles had been in self-enforced solitude for three days now. And he was loving it. It had been a really long time since he'd been able to get some secluded head space. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the pack, he still had some extreme issues with the whole 'werewolf mage' thing. He had long accepted that it was who he was – he had even embraced it. But even after around five years of trying to learn his own strength, he was still scared of how far his body could take him. More so how far it could take others.

So that was why he'd turned down Derek's offer to move into the Hale house. He liked having his own space to come home to, he liked being able to do strange, stupid, goofy things around his home at three in the morning, he liked feeling independent and young. But most of all, he liked having somewhere he could drop off the grid for a little while, watch too much television by himself, get some serious writing done, eat a whole box of cereal in one sitting, make trips to the corner shop for cookie dough after midnight.

Which was exactly what he'd been doing for the past seventy two hours. As of right now, he was perched on his kitchen counter top in his boxer briefs trying to explain to his publicist that there was no way he could have called her to let her know of his medical condition, since he had been in a coma.

"Stiles," she spoke sharply "god help me if you make one more werewolf pun I will definitely cancel all of your possible public appearances for the next five months"

"Oh come on Angie, I'm so much better now. I've totally got a bit of colour back in my already ghostly white cheeks. Derek would have called you if I'd died or something-"

"You were dying?" she yelled and he winced, taking the phone away from his ear a little as he ate from the giant bag of Doritos between his thighs "Stiles! If you'd have died I- oh my god I can't believe you were dying and you didn't tell me!"

"Relax Angie, there was no point in releasing a press statement telling my small portion of fans that I was dying, when I turned out to be just fine. I swear, I am fine. Fit as the proverbial fiddle"

"You think that I'm mad because of the press side of it?" she choked, her voice cracking, suddenly really grabbing his attention "Stiles you – you really think I care about you so little that media coverage is more of an issue than your health and wellbeing?"

"Well… yeah," he frowned "isn't that what PR is about? No strings attached, right?"

"Fuck you," she cursed "I don't care if you pay me, fuck you. Stiles we've been working together for nearly three years now, you haven't caught on to the fact that I actually consider us friends?"

There was a silence for a moment where he was sort of paused mid chew, thinking about the situation properly before he remembered he had mushy dorito in his mouth, and swallowed, blinking a few times and letting out a deep breath.

"Okay," he nodded "alright, I'm sorry Ange, I know, I've been an idiot. I just – I wanted to minimise the causalities because I already have a family full of emotionally damaged young adults dependent on my 'health and wellbeing'. I guess I probably didn't want to put you through what they were going through as well. It – it wasn't pretty"

"I don't want to hear about it right now, Stiles," she sighed into the phone, and he heard her typing out something on the other end of the line; probably some sort of strongly worded letter to Darren Criss' PR team telling them that they weren't handling the recent Mia situation very well, and that she should take over. No doubt she was right. Angie was the best in the business, fantastic at her job and one of the very few people in public relations that actually had a moral compass "I'll send you the requests from your agent tomorrow, and you can pitch Tom your new manuscript in a month or two. We'll go from there"

"We're okay though, right? Me and you, we're on good terms?"

"Just call me next time, okay?" she said, continuing to type, ruffling through papers now and again, and most likely sucking on the pen she carried everywhere with her "if you want me to work for you, you have to be completely honest with me"

"Put it in the contract," he replied "love you, Ange"

"Whatever. Get some rest"

Then she hung up. He wasn't too worried though, there was a begrudging affection to her tone that let him know she wouldn't hold the grudge. Plus, he was actually really looking forward to showing Tom the first draft for his newest book; he felt like it was some of the best work he'd ever done, and whilst it would be at least another year before he could get it out onto the shelves, he was proud of it.

He started running again the following week. He woke up on the Monday at the ass crack of dawn, barely with it, but feeling stronger and further into recovery than he had since he'd checked himself out of hospital.

He changed straight into something stretchy and latex-y, strapped his phone to his bicep, filled a bottle of water, and ran straight up to the reserve. He went for a good twenty miles before he stopped, hunched over against a tree, coughing his guts up, but revelling in the almost euphoric burning in the back of his legs, and the mass amounts of sweat leaking through his t-shirt. He realised just a little too late that he'd pushed himself a bit far, and just managed to catch himself and navigate his jelly legs so that he ended up on his butt, back against the tree, knees bent up whilst he tried to get his breath back.

"Are you enjoying the show?" he panted, raising an eyebrow and lifting his head enough to meet Derek's eyes where the dickwad was leant casually against a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest, smirking.

"I'm enjoying the fact that I can say 'I told you so'," he replied, tilting his head to the side.

"Boyfriend of the year award goes to…. anyone but Derek Hale," Stiles remarked breathlessly, catching the extra bottle of water Derek threw at him, gulping half of it down in one, pouring the rest of it over his head, already feeling his wolf trying to heal the strain and regulate his heartbeat.

"Don't be a bitch, it's not attractive," Derek said "and neither is your martyr complex"

"Do you ever stop worrying about me?"

"Stiles, you're a walking talking disaster; I'll stop worrying about you when the world stops," Derek chuckled, rolling his eyes, shaking his head, and pushing off of the tree, uncrossing his arms and holding out a hand. Stiles smiled exhaustedly, slapping his hand to Derek's and allowing him to yank him back to his feet, grinning even wider when Derek wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Sniff it up, wolf boy; the whole point of this life partner thing is that you have to want to make out with me even when I'm dripping in my own bodily fluids," he insisted, sliding his arms around Derek's neck and leaning in to kiss him, his whole body relaxing straight into it as though it was a second nature.

Stiles honestly didn't think he would ever get bored of kissing Derek Hale. He wouldn't ever get bored of the cute little bursts of breath that came from his nose, and his strong, steady arms encircling his waist and their bodies slotting together, and the coffee taste in his mouth, on his unfairly talented tongue. He would never tire of the tickle of stubble and the smell of earth and cologne and the clothes wash Derek used on his laundry. He would never, ever lose enthusiasm for the soft moans that only he could really elicit, and swallow softly, lost in the warmth and familiarity, and never-ending underlying thrill in his veins that came from being so intimate with somebody so guarded.

"You stink," Derek said quietly, voice croaky as Stiles broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together, still grinning "seriously, you fucking honk, Stiles. It's disgusting"

"Thank you, honey," he snorted "I love it when you talk dirty to me"

Derek finally tutted, placing his hand between Stiles' pectoral muscles and shoving him away lightly, rolling his eyes again and placing his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. Stiles continued to smile and remained close, reaching out a hand to grab Derek by the belt buckle.

"I have a suggestion," he said, growing even more smirky at the hint of arousal on the air "how about I use your shower. You can show me how to turn it on"

"You know how to turn my shower on Stiles, you've used it hundreds of times- oomph!"

Stiles cut him off by kissing him again, more chastely this time, before nipping playfully at the tip of his nose.

"Lead the way, oh mighty alpha," Stiles snapped, turning him around and pushing him slightly back in the direction of the Hale house, slapping his ass shamelessly, enjoying Derek's little surprised yelp and tut of amusement when Stiles padded after him, jumping onto his back and burying his face affectionately in his neck. Derek sighed and carried on, arms stabilising Stiles' legs either side of his hips and walking at normal speed back through the woods, continuing to complain about the bad smell the whole trek back.

"I'll call you from the airport before and after I get on the plane, and I'll skype you tomorrow afternoon in between the press release and-"

Stiles was cut off when Dacia, who was sat on Derek's hip, placed a single tiny finger against his mouth and creased her brow at him.

"Daddy, shut up," she said, pouting.

"Yes, daddy, shut up and go before you miss your flight," Derek said, trying not to laugh at the dead serious expression on their daughter's face, imitating her demanding tone of voice.

"Don't forget that she's not allowed to wear her pink dress if she's painting, only her old Mulan t-shirt. And don't let her talk you into giving her a sick day just because it's the full moon tomorrow, she's a lot better at controlling her transformation than you think and-"

"Stiles, honestly, I'll call Angie if you don't bugger off. I've got this sorted, I know our daughter," Derek cut him off this time, tutting and dragging Stiles forward by the tie, kissing him. Dacia made high pitched noises of disgust, causing Derek to laugh against Stiles' mouth. Stiles whined and swallowed heavily, wrapping his arms around them both and pressing a hard, lingering kiss to Dacia's temple, his hand cradling the back of her head over her mass of curly dark hair.

"I'm gonna miss you guys so much," Stiles said, his voice cracking slightly. Derek forced himself to remain composed, reminding himself that he should be used to this by now.

"We'll miss you too, but you'll be back in a few weeks. We're going to keep busy, aren't we?" Derek said, nudging his nose against Dacia's as she giggled slightly and nodded enthusiastically. Stiles moved away and lifted his suitcase easily.

"Pack night tomorrow," Dacia clapped her hands together excitedly, scrunching up her face, her brown eyes sparkling "Erica's gonna make cookies and teach me how to make Isaac scream like a little boy"

"Tell the pups I'm sorry I'm away for the full moon," Stiles said finally with another deep sigh, although he plastered a big grin on for Dacia's benefit, kissing her on the cheek again and placing his hand against Derek's cheek softly for a moment, before leaving the room. Dacia managed to keep quiet for all of a few seconds before Derek sat them down on one of the stools around the kitchen island, and she buried her face in his neck, letting out a small, pitiful sob, her little arms curling around him.

"Daddy be back soon," she mumbled wetly near his ear. He rubbed her back gently and ignored the way her little claws were digging unintentionally into the back of his neck.

"Yeah, sweetie," he said quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat and hugging her to him a little tighter "daddy will be back soon"

Erica smiled as she watched Derek sleeping where Boyd was curled up against his side and Jackson's head rested in his lap whilst he played angry birds on his phone. The idiot was exhausted, but it was definitely the good kind of exhausted – the kind of fatigue that came from the joys of being a father.

Dacia was sat with her face resting against Erica's chest, the fifth re-run of frozen playing on the television. Allison was sat in front of them on the floor, painting Dacia's toenails at her highest request, nibbling her bottom lip in concentration, a couple of dark curls falling over her pale, defined cheekbones. Lydia was curled up in the armchair with Isaac, subconsciously playing with his curls whilst he tickled Scott and Allison's little boy, Cooper, who had also managed to wriggle his way into the armchair with them. Scott was at work with Deaton, but would be home within the hour so that they could set up for the full moon, which, as it always was without Stiles, would be brutal.

In the years before the kids had been born, the full moons had gotten a lot easier, even with Stiles away on book tours or at conventions. But when Coop had come along, the kid had immediately recognised both of his alphas, and had developed a particular attachment to Stiles. When he'd first started shifting, at the age of one, Stiles had been out of state doing a shoot for GQ. Coop had screamed his little lungs raw, and cut up anyone who had tried to comfort him with his unpredictable little werewolf claws. It had been even worse after Dacia had started transforming, although she'd definitely been getting better at it now that they were working on her inherited ADHD with her.

"Erica?" Dacia asked without moving or lifting her head "how old am I this year?"

"You'll be five in three weeks, honey," she replied, looking down at her "why?"

"I want a dress like Elsa's for my birthday," she said softly, and Erica knew she was trying to take her mind off of the fact that the full moon jitters were starting, and that her heartbeat had been escalating slowly over the past two hours "and a reindeer"

"Well I don't know about the reindeer," Allison said with a small grin, continuing to paint her nails "but I think we can figure something out with the dress"

"Don't let Papa make it though," she said, glancing over at Derek where he was still snoring slightly "he doesn't even know how to dress himself properly"

Lydia snorted and Jackson made a non-committal noise of agreement, holding his fist out in the air without taking his eyes of the screen of his phone. Dacia giggled guiltily and held out her fist too, air bumping it with her uncle Jackson's as was their 'thing'.

"I wonder who put that idea in your head," Erica chuckled, booping her nose with the tip of her finger.

"Daddy told me," Dacia confessed, still smiling mischievously "he says papa should be arrested for crimes against fashion sometimes"

"It's a good job that your papa isn't awake and can't hear this then, isn't it?" Isaac said, and Cooper nodded seriously.

"Der bear would not be happy with Uncle Stiles," he insisted as he clambered off of Lydia's legs and ducked under his mother's arm to sit in the dip of her crossed legs, watching her as she finished off with the nail varnish.

"Will my claws be pink as well?" Dacia asked curiously, and Erica sat up a little straighter, adjusting Dacia slightly.

"Why don't you try it out and see?" she suggested. Dacia tensed for a moment, looking slightly frightened, but Cooper moved again to sit beside her, taking one of her smaller hands in his own tiny ones.

"It's okay, love," Lydia encouraged, nodding at her "you can do it"

Dacia closed her eyes and burrowed back against Erica slightly, her little hands shaking slightly as she tried to breathe through her nose. Cooper continued to hold her hand, a small grin breaking out on his face as her claws elongated and the pink stretched out over them, remaining flawless and pretty. Allison grinned in unison with her son and admired her handiwork, and Derek jerked awake when everybody started clapping and congratulating her.

"WhudImiss?" he snorted, blinking heavily through squinted eyelids as he made to sit up.

"Dacia shifted without losing control," Erica said in an overenthusiastic voice. Immediately, Derek's face lit up with a smile and he moved to crouch in front of his daughter, taking her face in his hands, still sleepy, eyes glittering with pride.

"Well done sweetie," he told her, kissing her between the brows and pulling her in tight for a hug "I'm so proud of you. Maybe we can video it for Papa later on?"

"Does this mean I'll be okay tonight?" she asked against him hopefully. He sighed deeply and moved back again, her tiny fingers curling around his.

"The moon will be out, honey," he said softly "it's much more difficult to control the shift when the full moon is out. We're going to be with you the whole time though, and Cooper will be tied up as well. We're going to work on finding your anchor again"

"I'm afraid, daddy," she sniffed, pouting, furrowing her brow "I don't wanna hurt anyone"

"We wont let you, love," he told her "and even if you do; we're big scary werewolves and we can handle a bit of rough and tumble," he grinned, tickling her tummy, causing her to squeal loudly. Cooper also let out a loud war cry and swung himself onto Derek's back, his little arms curling around his neck, barely fitting around the whole circumference as Dacia continued to giggle at the top of her lungs. In the end, Lydia called time on their impromptu wrestling match in which Derek got his ass kicked by a four year old and a three year old.

"I'm calling in a Chinese before the moon comes out and you lot will want to eat the takeout guy rather than the food he brings, anybody want in?"

Dacia sighed heavily and carefully sat herself down cross-legged on the grass in front of her elusive Grandad's grave, set beside that of her long-deceased Nan. It was a sweltering hot summer's day, the birds were singing and the flowers were all in full bloom, the smell of nature thick and comforting in the air. It always was for her; the powers she'd inherited from her hybrid father preening as the earth sang under the beating of the sun, flowing quietly and peacefully through her veins.

It was her seventeenth birthday. She was tired, having been up all night camping with the pack, eating far too many Cheetos, and listening to the laughter of the now middle aged adults around her. Honestly, they were lucky that their wolf slowed down their aging; never had she seen such a frustratingly youthful, agile, and good-looking group of 40 year olds.

"Hey guys," she said softly, smiling to herself and pulling the grass up, playing it between her fingers, feeling it tickle her bare legs "it's my birthday today," she told them "eighteen next year. Pretty scary really, but Erica says it's the big 21 that's the scariest. They're all busy preparing for tonight's surprise party that they think I don't know about"

She pressed her palm out flat on the grass and closed her eyes, letting the sun caress her skin, breathing in deeply and whispering an incantation crisply, the sounds escaping in an almost soundless mantra through her lips and teeth. When she opened her eyes again, there was a winding of tulips winding themselves slowly and animatedly around the gravestones without obscuring the names etched deeply.

"Things are going well with Coop," she spoke with a more private smile now, her dark curls falling around her face "papa has a bit of issues with the whole protective thing, but dad reminds him that Coop is Ali and Scotty's kid, and also part of the pack and family, and he usually shuts up. I think I love him," Dacia said "Cooper, that is," she added "I think… well, dad thinks I'm too young to know who my mate is, but papa keeps telling me that it's okay because he and dad were only young when they knew they were soulmates so…"

She trailed off for a second, a painfully sad expression flitting over her narrow, beautiful features, wetting her mauve lips and swallowing.

"I think dad misses you more the older he gets, you know," she spoke, a frown creasing her brow "more now I'm growing up. I know he really wanted you to know me. I want you to know me. He tells me about you all the time," she told them "all about Nan and how she was always trying new projects. He showed me her art the other day when we were cleaning out Isaac's basement; it was beautiful"

There was a silence that hurt her chest, an absence of reply that had her drawing in a shaky breath and blinking away stinging wetness in her eyes.

"I'm clever," she said a moment later, when she felt like she could talk again "Lydia's been tutoring me since I was little, so that's a given. But I'm really intelligent. Dad suggested college the other day, when I'm ready. Papa gets this weird guilty look on his face when we talk about it, but he still nods and smiles about it. I asked Cassie about it yesterday – she's visiting for my birthday – and she said it's because Papa went to college straight after he and dad broke up when they were young. She told me it was one of the worst times of both of their lives. But dad seems on-board. I think it's just papa, he's always had a problem with forgiving himself, even when other people forgave him a long time ago"

"I have issues controlling my shift still though," she said frustratedly "I can't help it sometimes. My anchor is my best friend Maisie, but Deaton says it's my magic that reacts awkwardly with my heightened emotions. We're working to make it better though. I think I'll go to college when I've got it sorted properly. I want Maisie to come with me, and I think she's seriously considering it as well. I just-" the breath hitched in the back of her throat "no," she told herself forcefully "it's my birthday, I refuse to be sad. I just came up here to get away from all the chaos for a while. Everyone is living in the house at the moment, and its definitely big enough, its just that it gets overwhelming sometimes. Papa tells me about the Hales that lived there before us, and his family. There's something about that plot of land," she told them "Papa says that the earth there holds energy that's preserved from the fire. Dad says he feels it sometimes too; but papa told me last week that the house is more reactive because the pack is like a new era of Hales. Then he got all emotional and awkward and shifty to try and hide it; it was very cute"

A squirrel darted across the cemetery a couple of rows in front and she smiled, shuffling closer to the graves and closing her eyes again, focusing hard and calming herself, breathing deeply, opening that window, that connection that she'd discovered when she was just nine years old and accidentally stumbled into the basement of the Hale house, coming face to face with a half-formed apparition of Talia Hale, her other nan.

There was a soft breeze that blew over her face, a blanket of ambience that washed over her and there was something so warm and gentle and familiar about it, that it seemed to be smiling at her, comforting her, reassuring her. When she opened her eyes for the second time, everything looked the same, but she knew they were there, with her, watching her.

"I love you," she said, swallowing again, getting slightly choked up as she stood slowly back to full height, looking all around her now "I never knew any of you, but I love you. And thanks," she grinned, a peaceful expression relaxing her face "for giving me the best family I could ever have hoped for"

She bent to tie the laces of her high top converses, the summer breeze blowing her open plaid shirt slightly, and when she stood back up, she paused for a moment longer, her hands dropping into the pockets of her denim shorts, nibbling her bottom lip. Then she smiled a final time, and turned, walking away, the sun shining on her as she went.